a summer held in hand
by mellieforyellie
Summary: It was a certain stranger that helped to realize that maybe, it was her that could make America not-so-bad anymore.


**disclaimer: pffff.  
><span>prompt:<span> yourself with your motherland.  
><span>notes1:<span> LOL, I WOULD NEVER TRY THIS.  
><span>notes2:<span> hope you enjoy anyway!  
><span>summary:<span> It was a certain stranger that helped to realize that maybe, it was her that could make America not-so-bad anymore.  
><span>pairing:<span> none.**

* * *

><p>She was born in America and she hates it.<p>

She hates feeling like she knows how to run the country better than the politicians do, she hates feeling like she can't do anything about her mother losing her job, and she _hate-hate-hates_ not being able to buy her friends birthday presents.

All these people going on _America_, _America_, _it's so great_! She doesn't see it, ever. They're a country of complainers, of people who always want, but never do.

She especially hates it here, in the godforsaken desert, where it's never cold except in the lone month of December, where everyone's closed-minded and blinded by religion, and _damnit, can't they __see_?

She's sitting outside a Chevron in Queen Creek in the middle of fucking July, where her friends are getting drinks and a man parks right in front of the spot she's sitting. He's blonde and blue-eyed with some of the cutest glasses she's ever seen.

He smiles at her as he walks toward the entrance. "Isn't a bit late for a nice young lady to be waiting outside in the cold?"

She scoffs. "It's not cold. And I dunno, maybe. I'm waiting for some people."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Who?"

"My friends, they're inside, getting some drinks for themselves."

"What, none for you?"

"Nah. I ain't got any money." She turns to look at him once more, but before she knows it, he's inside the Chevron and she's pissed off again. Tch, that's what she gets for optimism.

The more she thinks about it, the angrier she gets. How stupid was she for just talking to a random stranger, thinking he would listen? Of course he didn't give a fuck. In reality, he was probably some creeper who liked jailbait, trying to seduce her into his car. Well, it wasn't gonna work today —

The door opened again and as she expected to see her friends, it was the man again, with two drinks in his hand. He smiled as he sat down next to her and handed her one. "Here ya go, Miss."

…How the fuck did he know she liked those Otterpop-flavored slushie things, with all four of the flavors so it looked like a rainbow?

She put this question in the back of her mind as she sipped her slushie, _God it was so delicious_, and decided this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"Isn't it a bit late for kids your age to be out? It's passed curfew, isn't it?" he asked between sips of his Coke.

She snorted. "Yeah, like we give a fuck anymore. This country is so mentally inept we shouldn't need to respect the laws at all."

The man eyed her curiously, turning toward her. "What, you don't think this country is living up to it's potential?"

She looked at him, amusement obvious in her eyes. "God, there are too many reasons."

"Well…name some of them." This guy was kind of weird, she decided. But, she went with the flow, and decided to continue to speak.

"Hmm…well, like saying weed is illegal but alcohol isn't. You can't get _addicted_ to marijuana. It won't make you _crash a car_ because you're high off your ass and _kill someone_. Booze _will_.

"Then, there's the whole Republicans and Democrats thing. They're all fucking stupid. If they freaking got along for once, then maybe this country would actually be _moving_ somewhere, for the sake of a better cause. They're always staying so left or so right so they get their extreme voters, but if they actually worked together, they would be doing good for the _American people_, and they would _still_ be getting their stupid votes. I think kindergartners could run the country better than they could.

"Then there's our education system. Can't we do what they do in France, and get a baccalaureate? I don't need to be passing Calculus if I plan to get an English degree. It's bullshit.

"There's our economy. Jesus, can't we get a tank of gas for less than two-fifty at any given time? The cost for goods and our laziness to grow anything ourselves or do anything worthwhile is running everyone's wallet dry.

"And _then_ — and _then_, there's this whole job shit. I mean, if there aren't enough jobs, _move to another country_! Plenty of people do it from another country to America, why can't someone else move to fucking England or something?"

She sighed, finally done with her anger. "As soon as I can, I'm booking it out of here and moving to Canada. I'm so done with this place."

"That was quite a speech, there." He's smirking, and holy crap, she's so embarrassed, but really, once you get her going there's no stopping her, but why couldn't she have just _shut up_?

She blushes, and mumbles, "Shut up," under her breath.

He laughs, and sips his cola once more. "I agree with you, y'know? I mean, I guess I wasn't really looking at it much before, but…yeah, you're right. This country is fucked up." He looked toward the full moon, bright in the dark sky filled with stars, not blurred out by the city lights. "But I still love America. It's home to me."

She tries not to scoff at him, because she can feel the sincerity in his voice and doesn't want to fuck up his special moment. She feels so awkward, the way she usually feels during a group prayer before showtime, and she stands there and pretends to pray, even though she doesn't believe in any god whatsoever.

"You know," he says, and his sudden words frighten her for a moment, "you should be a politician. I think you could run this country pretty well."

"What?" she questions, looking at him with amusement. "Like, the president? There's no way. I'm way too obnoxious and uncaring of people's opinions to be good at something like that."

He shrugs, a smile on his face. "The People like Chris Christie, don't they?"

"The People also like Jersey Shore," she responds, with a shrug of her own.

He sighs, frowning at her. "You're really stubborn, ya know that?"

She grins at him, as wide as she can and as arrogant as she can. "Yes, I do, sir, my momma's told me that every day since the day I could talk."

All he does is laugh. "Well, maybe your momma's been onto something."

* * *

><p>It's been twenty five years since her encounter with that cute guy she never got the name of. But, she thinks that it doesn't matter anymore, as she walks out, with the biggest smile on her face, with her husband and her kids smiling big, too. The crowd greets her with a loud, raucous cheer, and she can only smile as she says the words,<p>

"Hey, guys, guess who _I_ just got a call from?"

The crowd roars as they realize that their new president has been chosen, and all she can do is smile with that same, proud look they love so much, with her heart pounding in her chest.

Her speech is totally unprepared, but somehow, she manages it, with the same campaign idea she's had all this time — the beautiful idea of unity. That despite the fact that she's a full-blooded liberal, she's not afraid to work with a Republican or two to get the real issues solved, to make this country successful again.

As she finishes, feeling the cameras on her, feeling the millions of eyes, hearing the cheers of admiration, of devotion, of belief, she can't help but remember that man. She can't help but remember him, because for once, she can _feel_ the American blood flowing in her veins, a mix-mash of European, Southern, and Western. She can feel how great it is to be an American, to live in this wondrous country, full of so many different people, different ideas, and different hopes, each to be emulated and cherished in every way.

And she wants to cry at how beautiful it is.

She hugs her husband and her children onstage, the tears threatening to spill, she is so _proud_ of herself, of her country, and most of all, of that man, for never letting her forget.

As soon as she is offstage, without even a moment for her to breathe, her cell rings — and it's President, informing her of a very important meeting, she simply _must_ get to, right away.

Three hours later, she's escorted by the Secret Service into the White House, and she can feeling the pride and history of her country simply overflowing in this place. She walks into his office with not even a knock, (because after all, her bluntness is what made the crowd lover her) and, oh look, _he's_ there.

The President smiles at her, and nods to him, and, really, he looks exactly the same, with the same cowlick in his blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and cute little smile. "This, Mrs. Staires, is America."

She blinks once, twice, three times. "Uh, I'm sorry, _what_?"

All _he_ does is grin at her with that same smile he gave her that night when he handed her an otter-pop slushie in the pattern of a rainbow.

"There was a reason I told ya you should be President, y'know." He looks over her for a moment. "Looks like ya did a pretty good job of following my job. Good job, kid." He winks at her, in that same cute little way that reminds her of her little nephew.

All she can do is smile and laugh.

She was in for some interesting years.


End file.
